Seamus' Hair
by xxkissmeimirishxx
Summary: Erm... Seamus had become a "troubled teenager", and Dean wants to find out. Sorry, my summary sucks! Totally unrelated to any of my other stories.


Title: Seamus' Hair (I couldn't think of a better name, sorry!"  
Author: kissmeimirish Pairing: Deamus Rating: Eurhmmm....PG-13? Some language, some implied shagging- yeah, maybe make it PG-15.  
Disclaimer: The boys in *my* version are having some fun. Does that look like the same thing as the books to you?  
Note: Marilyn Manson's first album was released in 1995, so it's time-canon. I hope. This has no relation to any of my other stories. This was also written in 30 minutes on about 3 hours sleep, squeezed in between physics classes and studying, so if it sucks, please keep that in mind.

It wasn't that girls weren't pretty.  
No, actually, they were very pleasant to look at (especially if they have big titties!). They have long, shiny, soft hair that smelled of flowers and sunshine, their legs looked smooth and round in their uniforms, they have light, cascading laughs.  
Seamus Finnigan could go on almost to infinity about the wonderful assets of females, but it wasn't going to do a damn thing about his feelings for his best mate. Who was most definitely *not* female.  
Dean Thomas was, if anything, almost the exact *opposite* of a girl. He had short, curly, slightly coarse hair that smelled of cinnamon, not flowers, he probably wouldn't look as good in a skirt and tights (but who knew?), and he did *not* have breasts. Not even little manly ones. (Seamus checked him out in the showers more than once.) His laugh, though, it was a little soft, maybe bordering on the feminine side, if the person hearing it was drunk.  
The point is, Dean Thomas could possibly be held up as the Griffindor fourth-year pillar of masculinity. (Harry Potter was currently shagging Justin Finch-Fletchly, else *he* would be the pillar. Seamus didn't get to make the rules.) So, of course, Seamus' mad infatuation with him would always be unrequited.  
It was more of the same-sex thing that was standing between Seamus and romantic happiness. He loathed the books that he read (yes, gasp, he actually read!) where the best friends fall in love- always a nice, heterosexual love- but never acknowledge it because it might "endanger their friendship." What bollocks. If the only impediment was their current *relationship status*, and they were in love with each other, skip that, let's get straight to the shagging!  
This was basically how Seamus Finnnigan's mind worked: daily activity mixed with habits and rituals over a frothing undercurrent of dirty words and even dirtier ideas. It was just how he functioned.  
Seamus had been through enough "relationships", if they could be called that, to know that not only was kissing girls not his idea of a good time, kissing *anyone* wasn't really on his agenda. He'd shagged girls, mostly because they looked so good and thought he was cute, and he'd shagged guys, mostly because he was curious and fairly sick of shagging girls. Guys were more fun, but girls were more- well, pretty.  
Kissing, though, was always out of the question.  
That was why Seamus was surprised that the first part of Dean's body that he fell in love with were his lips.  
They looked very much like his own, just a different color, and Dean took much better care of his. (Seamus' were always split or cut or chapped from something or another.) He had a round mouth full of even, white teeth, and a reddish-pink tongue. Dean often stuck the tip of it out of the corner of his mouth when he was concentrating, one of the reasons that Seamus had actually *noticed* his lips.  
The second part that Seamus noticed were Dean's hands. They were slender and almost delicate, with very long fingers tipped in clean, cut nails. He has a scar on his left third knuckle from a first-year dare to put his fist through a window. Most often, his spindly fingers hold a charcoal stick, a quill, a pastel, or a his wand. Dean used the most cleaning- and, the joke went, silencing- spells of any of the Griffindor boys. Maybe it was all of the charcoal dust and paint splotches that he was used to, Seamus didn't know, but Dean was always the person who sat him down and siphoned the dirt, mud, and grass off of his robes, usually after a particularly bad day.  
Seamus, on the other hand, knew and used the most medical and healing spells. He was the one who Griffindors (and Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs) turned to after an iffy, question-provoking fight.  
Dean and Seamus made a good team; everybody thought that. But Seamus would bet that none of them thought they could (or would) ever be more.  
And so, after six months of thinking, mulling it over, and brooding, Seamus Finnigan became a cliche. He became "The Troubled Teenager."  
He now hardly ever talked, and when he did, it was a few choice words to a scant collection of people. His schoolwork teetered dangerously on the edge of a passing grade, causing a few staff member to take note and and ask if he was feeling all-right. As an attempt to lift his spirits, he became a Beater for the team. (He liked being able to take out his aggressions on life through smacking a heavy ball towards Malfoy's shiny blond head.) Also, in a fit of desperation, he dyed his spiky hair purple.  
He even began to raid his dorm-mates' collection of music, in search of some dark and angsty music to sum up what he was experiencing. There wasn't much to pick from, but he was happy with his finds: Depeche Mode, Pink Floyd, and a new band from America called "Marilyn Manson."  
It was the end of a particularly depressing weekend afternoon, and Seamus was holed up in a secret room in the Astronomy Tower, listening to his music collection. He was picking at the frayed ends of his jumper and humming along to "Wish You Were Here", when a familiar head poked it's way through the trapdoor.  
"Shay?" What are you *doing?* They can hear that noise in the Ravenclaw dormitory!"  
Seamus turned down the music. "What?"  
Dean sighed and plopped down next to him.  
"What's eating you? You've never been like this before, not that I know of. What happened?"  
Seamus shrugged and switched the Pink Floyd for Marilyn Manson.  
"I put a spell on you...because you're mine..."  
Dean made a face, reached over, and clicked the machine off.  
"Hey!" protested Seamus.  
"You're not listening."  
"Yes I was!"  
"I mean to *me*, not the- whatever that was."  
"Marilyn Manson."  
"Whatever."  
"What is it?"  
"I wanna know what's wrong with you!"  
"Nothing!"  
"Oh, yes, something is definitely up. You're not saying much more than a periodic 'fuck off', you've gone and dyed your hair, and you've been up here listening to this- stuff, music."  
"I don't have to be social *all* the time, do I? And maybe I like this music, and was sick of my regular hair color."  
"Maybe so, but the Seamus I know can't go a day without pranking someone or telling a joke, let alone talking."  
"I still talk, just not very-"  
"Plus, you actually have a passing grade for the first time since I've met you. No, wait, there was that one accident in Charms one day, two years ago."  
"Ghrmm. Maybe I'm turning over a new leaf."  
Dean snorted. "Anyway, you're avoiding the question."  
"Alright! Fine! I haven't been feeling as perky as usual, okay?!"  
"Why?"  
"I- dunno, what, I need a reason?"  
"Is this because you've shagged almost everybody in the school and you've run out of options?"  
Seamus deflated, mouth slightly open. Dean smiled, a little one playing around his- oh, God, there were those lips again.  
"You honestly though I didn't know?"  
"Uh-"  
"Y'know, Terry Boot just hasn't been the same since, I think he may actually like you."  
"Terry Boot doesn't like anything but his eye pencil," Seamus muttered, feeling his cheeks flame. "That's embarrassing?"  
"No,just- I hadn't actually *told* anyone, yet, see. Not about the- guys."  
"Ah."  
"Thought you'd be upset." Fuck-fuckity-fuck-fuck, he didn't mean to say that!  
"Why?" Dean asked again. "I don't care. You're my best mate, even if you have been ignoring me for the past month and a half."  
"You don't care."  
"No."  
"That I'm gay."  
"Actually, if it's possible to categorize you, I'd say you're bi. But take your pick."  
"Oh."  
"Anyway, even if you won't give me a total answer, I've still come to bring you back down."  
"I did ans-"  
"Oh, c'mon, Seamus; I've known you long enough to know what spikes your moods. You'll spill in good time. Let's go."  
And with that, a thoroughly confused Seamus followed his best mate and first love down to dinner.  
The "good time" that Dean had referred to turned out to be six months later. Seamus had returned to being a social butterfly with bad grades, albeit plus brightly-colored hair and a collection of depressing music.  
He'd stopped shagging anything that moved, also (though that may have been because there were only mostly Slytherins left)  
Dean was quite satisfied with his friend's progress, even though he hadn't gotten Seamus to say what has caused his "phase" quite yet. He had a hunch that it was about a person, most likely a boy, and who Seamus probably perceived to be "out-of-bounds." That only left about ten guys. Well, ten *males*, though Dean was fairly certain that a celebrity- or, worse, teacher (eurgh!)- crush wasn't really Seamus' type. Hmm. What could it be, what could it be.  
Anyway, Seamus was still acting a little odd, at least he was around him. Quiet sometimes, then unusually rambunctious, and occasionally blushing whenever our eyes met-  
Dean stopped, right there in the middle of the corridor.  
God, he'd been stupid. All that time? *Really*  
He turned on his heel and raced toward the common room.  
Seamus was sitting alone at a table in the corner, with his little Muggle tape player blasting Depeche Mode into the quiet room.  
"Words like violence break the silence, come crashing in, into my little world..."  
"Shay?" Dean reached out and touched the other boy on the shoulder.  
He jumped about a foot in the air and failed to hit his seat on his way back down. "Oh, Shay, I'm sorry!" Dean cried, helping him up. Seamus brushed his lime-green hair out of his eyes and looked quizzically at Dean.  
"Aren't you supposed to be in the art room now?" "I'm skiving today."  
"Oh."  
"Look, Seamus, is there *anything* you want to tell me ? At all?"  
Another quizzical look.  
"Like what?"  
"Like about the cause of your sudden emo phase."  
Dean's hunch was confirmed as the boy's pale face flushed a brilliant red, and he looked away.  
"You can tell me. Really." Even though he already knew.  
No answer.  
"Seamus, are you in love with me?"  
"Er-uh-um." Whenever Seamus began a sentence with these syllables, a muddle was sure to follow soon after. Dean prevented the inevitable word jumble by bending down and kissing him.  
"Mph!"  
As the two fell into an armchair, trying to get as close as was possible to osmosis of the human body, the song got to the good bit.  
"All I ever wanted, all I ever needed is here, in my arms...words are very unnecessary, they can only do harm...."  
Whatever feeling Seamus Finnigan has had about snogging instantly vanished as Dean's tongue began to dance with his. Snogging was very enjoyable, really. You just had to get the person right.

And also, long fingers? *Excellent* for bringing your boyfriend to ecstasy.  
- - - - OK, did that totally suck? Please R&R! It means a LOT! 


End file.
